Black
by Fitch
Summary: More FF8 something or other. A semi-continuation of "Grey".


**Black  
****A semi-continuation of "Grey"**

The waning dusk caught him by surprise as he ran. The fields of wheat around him were soft and he felt them on his legs as he urged himself faster. Looking behind him, he saw the lines of trees like soldiers standing at attention on the bluff he was so recently standing on. He made a swift movement to the left, changing his path as if a silent hand had met his shoulder and equally silent lips had whispered to him which way was home.

He was breathing through his mouth now. He could hear his own heartbeat like the ringing of the great churchbells he had known before Garden, and he tried to swallow the sound deep into his throat. He closed his eyes, unafraid of stumbling in this valley he knew so well. He allowed himself to focus on the pinpricks of light he saw behind his eyelids and willed his legs to stretch farther and take him across the dark landscape to the phosphorescent blue lights that he knew to be just beyond the sea of tall grass he was swimming through now.

He knew he hadn't made it the moment he had began to run.

"Lights out at ten," he murmured as he looked down at the now closed gates of Garden from the shadowed hillside he stood on. His breath rumbled out of his throat as he sunk to his knees and picked a handful of grass with his gloved hands. He looked at the blades for a moment in the newborn starlight before watching them flutter away in the breeze that licked at his face.

He ran his hand through his hair, pushing the thick tendrils out of his eyes, and stood up on shaky legs. His breath had returned, and he couldn't help himself from sighing. "Wonderful. I'll never hear the end of this one," he growled in his mind. He reached down and brushed the grass from his dark pants before turning and making his way down to the familiar dirt road leading away from Garden.

He wondered what had coaxed him towards the ocean that evening. He always lost track of time down there. It was childish, even, to stray that far from his usual training grounds. He felt young and stupid then, like a terrible cliché pretending he was unique. He felt the bile rise up in his throat and drank it back like wretched wine. He would do better next time. He would be perfect then.

It wasn't long before he reached Balamb. He knew it was still early in the city, and he could hear muffled bar room laughter in the salty air around him. His steps slowed until he was standing still in the middle of the cobblestone path that made up the central square. He wasn't even sure why he came here. He didn't have any gil, so the hotel was out of the question, and he certainly didn't know anyone he could stay with. Well... he knew Dincht's mom, but he wasn't about to ask _her_. The conversation would surely turn to Zell, and he was positive she would be disappointed when she realized just how little he actually knew about her son. She had somehow gotten the distorted impression that the pair were friends, when in reality they hardly spoke. It wasn't that he actively disliked the guy, he just preferred to keep to himself. Plus, watching Zell shove hotdogs down his windpipe made him want to throw up.

"That must be a very interesting building for you to be staring at it like that."

He nearly lost his footing as he spun around to face whoever had broken him from his thoughts. It was a rare thing to catch Squall Leonhart off guard, and his hand had subconsciously reached for the handle of his gunblade. He stopped himself before he had touched the smooth grip, but felt himself blushing at his own jumpiness. Plus, being caught staring into space in the middle of a public street wasn't exactly the image he liked to portray. His kept his face neutral when he looked back at the owner of the voice.

It was a young girl, around his age he would guess, with cranberry blonde hair and freckles. She was standing with her hand on her hip, smirking as if she as just told a wonderful joke. His dislike was immediate. "It _is_ a very interesting building. Wonderful architecture," he drawled sarcastically.

She squinted at him, studying something in his face as if he were a curious animal on display. He scowled at her and she nearly laughed. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Because your features are so dark," she stated. "And you have an accent."

"Then so do you."

She looked confused. "What?"

"Well, you don't sound like me, do you? So to me you have an accent."

This time she **_did_** laugh. He didn't understand what was so funny. "I guess you're right." She seemed pleased at something, and it began to make him feel uneasy. He decided this was a good time to take his leave and began to walk away. He didn't get very far.

"Hey, wait a minute!" She jogged after him until they were walking side by side. "It's very rude to just walk away from a person like that."

"I have more buildings I need to stare at."

Another laugh. Squall was beginning to think this girl was crazy. "Can I help?"

"No, this really is a one-person job," he said, a bit of venom lacing his voice. He hoped she would get the hint.

She didn't.

"Oh? Because I can take notes on your observations. Every good researcher needs an assistant."

Squall didn't reply. He simply kept walking, not exactly sure where he was going but keeping his eyes squarely focused on the road ahead. To her credit, she kept up with him, walking along the pier in silence. He caught her glancing at him a few times, but to his mild surprise she seemed as lost in thought as he. After they had walked nearly the entire distance, though, she spoke up. "So where are we going?"

He stopped walking, and moved to lean over the wooden rail that stood between him and the black sea. "I don't know," he said honestly.

She nodded as if that was the right answer and leaned over the rail herself. "They said there was going to be a horrible storm tonight, but obviously the weather people had their heads up their asses again."

"There might be one yet. Storms can sneak up on you."

"Mm. But the clouds really don't look it. They're too thin. You can still see the stars."

He shrugged. "I don't know anything about weather."

"I know a little. I'm supposed to be a ship captain, according to my father."

"Well, I guess "ship captain" is one of the few careers you can get into around here," he remarked, gesturing vaguely at the line of bobbing sailboats in the harbor. "Unless your life goal is to sell fish."

She snorted. "Or little glass snowglobes with plastic palm trees inside."

"I always wanted one of those," he added sarcastically.

"They're the souvenir of champions."

Neither spoke for what could have been minutes, could have been hours, but it was long enough for the clouds in the sky to have built up to a respectable level. The waves were getting bigger, and the red and white buoy across the bay danced up and down in the white froth.

This time it was Squall who broke the silence. "Do you want to be a captain?"

The question seemed to catch her off guard, and she rested her chin in her palm as if she was thinking. "No."

"Then don't become one."

"Easy to say, but I don't have aspirations to sell trinkets, either."

"Some people are happy selling trinkets."

She nodded to herself, but didn't really have anything else to say about that. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you happy?"

"No. But I'm not unhappy, either."

"I suppose that's not so bad."

Fat droplets of rain began to fall onto the wooden pier, making a hollow noise as they hit. There was a low rumbling in the sky around them, and they both looked up to watch as the sky broke.

It always seemed to Squall like time moved slower when it was raining. He supposed it was mostly just because everyone around him always seemed to scurry off rapidly whenever it got a little wet. With everyone moving so fast, the one standing still could easily feel like they were separated from everyone else's conceptions of time. Or maybe he just thought too much.

The waves were splashing against the pier now. It wasn't a violent thing, but it was something interesting to look at. Squall was transfixed. He idly decided he would read up on meteorology when he returned to Garden. After the disciplinary committee had their say with him, at least. He frowned. 'Seifer is going to have a field day,' he thought darkly.

"Waves and buildings. You are very easily entertained," his companion stated mirthfully.

He looked at her, but said nothing. It was nearly pouring now.

"I think it's about time we went inside," she declared suddenly, raising her voice to be heard over the echoing of the droplets on the pier. She pulled her coat over her head and turned away from the railing. She stopped when she noticed Squall wasn't joining her. "Aren't you coming?"

"I think I'll stay here."

She looked shocked. "Why? You'll be soaked."

He shrugged and turned back towards the water.

She seemed genuinely confused. This boy was an enigma. "If you don't have anywhere to stay, you can spend the night at my house. We have an extra room."

He considered for a moment. This was exactly the opportunity he was looking for. "I'm fine."

"Where are you staying then?" she asked quietly, beginning to shiver from the rain.

He didn't say anything, and she shook her head sadly at his silence. "I don't understand you at all," she said at last. When there was no response to this, she decided it was time to go. Pulling her coat further over her head, she trudged back towards town and quickly disappeared from view.

The angry sea moved beneath him, and Squall stared out at its depths through wet locks of hair. He had liked the girl, he realized. It was a shame she had left. She would have made good company while he waited for the dawn.

Squall closed his eyes and felt the rain pelt his shoulders, finding a strange comfort in the methodic striking on his skin. His mind drifted back to to the feel of the soft wheat against his legs as he ran through the fields in the cool, night air. 

He opened his eyes and breathed in the salt water, feeling it sting the inside of his nostrils. In the distance a foghorn blared, and as he stared out at the black skies around him, he realized that loving a storm was a lonely thing.

  
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**A/N: **Ah, metaphors. I'm not sure why I'm writing this. I guess I just wanted to write an emotional Final Fantasy VIII fanfic that wasn't a love story. Not that I have anything again love stories, mind you, I happen to really enjoy them. Unfortunately, good love stories are extremely difficult to write. You can't simply say "So and so loved him deeply  
or "So and so would have died for her" without it seeming... I don't know. Talking about love doesn't really do it justice, and explaining it through writing is very difficult. Anyone who can write a good love fic impresses me to no end. Whoo, I'm getting off on a tangent now. 

This isn't really a continuation of Grey like I thought it was going to be. It's more of a separate story, but in the same vein as that one. I might write more, if I get the urge. And maybe next time I won't give it a pretentious one-word title named after a color! Or maybe not...


End file.
